Marlene Winberghttp://marlenewinberg.com
Author and storytellerSun, 21 Feb 2016 10:05:03 +0000en-UShourly1https://wordpress.org/?v=4.4.17The Water Spirithttp://marlenewinberg.com/water-spirit/
Mon, 16 Feb 2015 12:43:05 +0000http://marlenewinberg.com/?p=811I told the story of ‘The Water Spirit’ to a friend over tea the other day. When she asked me to write it down so that she may share it with her daughters, I was not only delighted to pass it on, but thought it a good opportunity to spread the mysterious healing power of […]

]]>I told the story of ‘The Water Spirit’ to a friend over tea the other day. When she asked me to write it down so that she may share it with her daughters, I was not only delighted to pass it on, but thought it a good opportunity to spread the mysterious healing power of the story …

Early one morning, two sisters went to the river to fetch water in their calabashes. One was married with children while the other had only just grown breasts.

The sun shone brilliantly on the water and lit up a beautiful water lily in the river. The young sister waded into the water to pick the flower, but as she touched it, the girl disappeared into the water without a ripple or trace.

Her sister rushed home to fetch the family, but the elders at the homestead warned everyone to stay calm; they knew where the sister had gone. They knew how to call her back. The most accomplished healer among the clan ordered the people to fetch wood. Once a fire had been made, the old healer danced while the people sang and clapped. He moved and rushed through the reeds and bent his figure close to the shallow water – to hear the message he had to give to his people. He knew how to talk to the ancestors, how to ask for help.

When he returned from his trance, he ordered the people to sacrifice a goat. The woman of the sister’s family were told to go to their hut in silence and prepare a new floor with fresh dung and mud.

The healer told them that the sister was alive, had married the Water Snake and had given birth to a baby boy. That they lived under the water. Time passed and did not pass. Then, a whirlwind came up. In this wind, the sister and her little boy appeared in the hut head upside down – both of them – just like that…

She sat down quietly with her family and explained that she become a healer and that her child had been born a healer. She said that she had more children with the Water Snake, who continue to live under the water. She told them that she would be their healer in the future and asked that they should not be afraid of her. She told them that she would visit her river water family from time to time and that her invisible children would come to see her. She asked the people to accept them.

In this way, she ensured the continued existence of her children and family.

My story walks ’till here.

I have heard many different versions of this wonderful story from people who live close to rivers in Southern Africa – sometimes it is called ‘The Water Snake” or “The Water Maiden”. This retelling is based on a story as I heard it from Ronelia Kaffeer who lives near the Orange River in the Kalahari. Ronelia’s #Khomani grandmother told it to her. In her brilliant book Water, Legend and Stone, Rene Rusts explains to us how we can read the legend of the Water Spirit, or Water Maiden, on numerous rock art panels in South Africa. (Rust 2012)

Mother and child at the recent storytelling festival on the San communal farm, Platfontein, in the Northern Cape Province of South Africa. !Nisa dressed in her traditional outfit for the occasion. The old hunter-gatherer way of life no longer exists for this community, but the storytelling tradition is alive and being passed on from mother to child in this family.

Mother and Child

!Nisa dancing skirt is made from beads she harvested from a tree, sewn onto a springbok’s hide. When she dances, it becomes a piece of kinetic art.

]]>Storyteller Emelia Kuvangu Muhindahttp://marlenewinberg.com/storyteller-emelia-kuvangu-muhinda/
Sun, 06 Jul 2014 09:50:01 +0000http://marlenewinberg.com/?p=741Dear Friends and Story Lovers, !Xun storyteller, Emelia Kuvangu Muhinda talks about beading and storytelling in the same breath: “My mother wove beads into skin dresses for us when we were little. That was how I learnt to create things and tell stories.” I recently had the pleasure of retelling Emelia’s fabulous ogre story to […]

!Xun storyteller, Emelia Kuvangu Muhinda talks about beading and storytelling in the same breath: “My mother wove beads into skin dresses for us when we were little. That was how I learnt to create things and tell stories.” I recently had the pleasure of retelling Emelia’s fabulous ogre story to an audience of mothers and daughters. Here is her story …

->Teria Mengu and her Jealous Husband<-

There was this man called Tshengu, who married a beautiful woman and brought her to his mother’s house. Her name was Teria Mengu. He looked around his village with new eyes and thought to himself, no, no, there are too many men here. Tshengu decided to take his new wife far away.

After only one day in their new place next to a river, husband said to wife: “You must wait here while I fetch our clothes and things.”

Mengu waited and waited, but Tshengu did not return. She wondered if he had another wife somewhere else and thought to herself, no, I will not survive like this. I must make my own garden straight away. And so she did. She planted the mealies she had with her and went to collect food in the bush.

Mengu stayed alone at the river’s edge. But one day at sunset, she heard a strange sound: “Kulungu, kulungu, kulungu, kulungu, kulungu, kulungu….

It was a giant ogre! He was rowing across the river in a canoe. He pulled it up against the river bank and walked over to Mengu’s place. He knocked at the door and said:

“May I come in?”

Mengu was afraid and replied: ”Yes, you may.”

The giant asked her for a chair and she gave him one. “Where is the porridge,” he asked. She gave him bowl of porridge.

He ate it and asked: “Where is a pipe?” And Mengu gave him a pipe.

The giant asked: “ Where is the tobacco?” And Mengu gave him tobacco.

When the giant had eaten and smoked, he asked for a drink. Mengu gave him a drink and he stayed for a long time. Eventually he asked if he could sleep.

“No,” said Mengu, “The sun is almost coming up.” The giant saw the sun rising, so he climbed into his canoe and went back to where he came from.

“Kulungu, kulungu, kulungu, kulungu, kulungu, kulungu….

When the sun began to set the following day, the giant returned. And again, he started asking for things.

Where is my chair?
There it is, replied Mengu
Where is my porridge?
There it is,
Where is my pipe?
There it is.
Where is my drink?
There it is.

Mengu thought to herself, I must give this all to him to save my life or he might eat me otherwise!

And so the next day, she calmed her fears and put out the chair, porridge, the pipe and the drink. Soon she heard the giant paddling across the river. The same happened as before.

Each time after the giant had left, Mengu set about her chores and at night, she put out the giant’s food. Then, one evening, her husband came back.

He saw the food she had put out and asked: “You are alone here! How can you put out all that food for yourself? Who are you doing this for? Is there another man? I brought you here so that you would not take another man!”

While Tshengu was raging at his wife, she said: “Keep quiet and listen to what I have to say. I am in big trouble. Do as I say!”

She took her husband and painted his head black with mud and charcoal from her fire. She dug a big hole next to her bed and told her husband to climb into it. She closed the hole up to his neck so that only his head was visible.

“You told me that I was cooking for another man. Now do not be afraid when you see him whom you call my other man.”

Then they heard that sound.

“Kulungu, kulungu, kulungu, kulungu, kulungu, kulungu….

Mengu whispered: “Remember what I told you. You must keep dead quiet and just look.”

The giant knocked at the door. “Open up so that I can come in!” And the wife said to her husband: ”Keep quiet and do not be afraid!”

The giant did not ask his usual questions. He simply looked at the painted head and said: “What is that and why does this place smell differently?”

“It is only a tree stump that I carved and painted,” replied Mengu. “Eat your food.”

When the giant had finished, he left and crossed the river on his canoe.

Kulungu, kulung, kulungu, kulungu, kulungu…

Mengu dug her husband out of his hole and asked:” Did you see what that man looked like?”

Thsengu had in fact got such a fright that he soiled himself! “Let us get out of here quickly!” he said.

“Quick! Take off your clothes and go wash in the river so that we can leave at once!” They left as soon as the man had cleaned himself.

When the giant came knocking on the door the next day, there was no reply. “No,” he said, “That carving was another man. Now I am too late! If I had known it was another man, I’d have killed him and eaten them both!”

]]>Platfontein Story Festivalhttp://marlenewinberg.com/platfontein-story-festival/
Sun, 06 Jul 2014 09:43:36 +0000http://marlenewinberg.com/?p=734 Dear Friends and Story Lovers, This handful of photographs from last week’s storytelling festival on the San Farm, Platfontein in the Northern Cape Province of South Africa, is a story in itself. I hope you enjoy them! The festival was hosted by veteran !Xun storyteller Kapilolo Mario Mahongo and the Manyeka Arts Trust, in […]

This handful of photographs from last week’s storytelling festival on the San Farm, Platfontein in the Northern Cape Province of South Africa, is a story in itself. I hope you enjoy them!

The festival was hosted by veteran !Xun storyteller Kapilolo Mario Mahongo and the Manyeka Arts Trust, in co-operation with its European Union partners, Cave to Cave Storytelling Project and the Spanish Guadalajara Storytelling Marathon.

]]>Katitu in Spainhttp://marlenewinberg.com/729/
Sun, 06 Jul 2014 09:34:40 +0000http://marlenewinberg.com/?p=729Dear Friends and Story Lovers, Kapilolo Mahongo and I recently returned from Spain where we performed at the 22nd annual Guadalajara storytelling festival. Every year, the mayor of this town opens the event with a story, followed by a non-stop, 36-hour-long marathon where more than one thousand locals come to the 15th century Palacio del […]

Kapilolo Mahongo and I recently returned from Spain where we performed at the 22nd annual Guadalajara storytelling festival. Every year, the mayor of this town opens the event with a story, followed by a non-stop, 36-hour-long marathon where more than one thousand locals come to the 15th century Palacio del Infantalo to tell stories through-out the weekend!

We joined the traveling storytellers who gathered from 30 different countries in neighbouring palaces – exquisitely painted in murals that depict historic narratives. (The picture above is of a panel from a 14th century Spanish fresco.) I told one episode of the wide-spread folk tale type, The Clever Little Girl, or Little Wise Heart, as she is called in 19th century texts. I combined a version told to me by Ju|’hoan teller in Botswana in 2004 with one recorded by Sigrid Schmidt in northern Namibia some twenty five years ago. Here she is …

Katitu Momambo, the Clever Little Girl

This story begins with four girls who lived in the Kalahari Desert in southern Africa. They were the clever little Katitu Momambo and her three older sisters. The three big girls went into the veld one day to gather food, as they use to do in those days.

Little Katitu walked after them, but the big girls sent her back, saying: ”Hey, go back! You are too small to go with us! Stay at home! Go back!” Katitu secretly followed them at a distance so that they would not notice her. Later, when they were too far away from home to send her back, she joined them.

While she walked, Katitu cut herself some wood and made herself a bow and many arrows. The girls walked and walked and walked until at last, the sun dropped into the Kalahari horizon. The girls were lost, yes, they were lost.

They happen to wander into a deserted village where they found a hut in which to spend the night. Little Katitu went up to the old woman who sat next to the hut and greeted her. “Oh!” answered the old Grandmother, “This is the village of the Big Snake! What are you doing here? He stays in a big hole in the cattle kraal. When people like you come to milk the cows, he eats them! And if he cannot kill them in this way, he will go to your hut at night when you are asleep and kill you there!”

Wise little Katitu did not panic. She simply asked old Grandmother for a hard cow skin to cover the door of their hut. Then she told the girls to make a fire and cook some food. Katitu wanted to sleep a little, so that she could stay awake throughout the night to watch out for the Big Snake. “When a wind begins to blow, she said to her sisters, you must wake me up. This would mean that the Big Snake is near.” Later that night, the wind came up and the sisters awoke Katitu while they themselves went to sleep. Then Katitu fixed the hard cow skin against the door of the hut and made a little hole in the middle for her bow and arrows.

It was not long before the wind became stronger and Katitu heard the Big Snake approach.

“Hai, Gom-gom, hai gom-gom, where are they?” chanted the Big Snake.

The clever Katitu answered him with her own defiant chant, “ Here they are, here they are!

Then the Big Snake rushed – khab! – against the hard skin at the door of the hut. Little clever girl shot an arrow through the hole in the skin. And when he rushed again – khab! – she shot- khab! – shot an arrow at him. When he rushed again – khab! – she shot – khab! – and finally, killed him. Yes, the little clever girl killed the Big Snake.

Then Katitu rushed over to the older girls. “Sister, sister, sister!” she whispered, “get up, get up, get up!” And when they awoke they saw the terrible thing lying there. “Come, we have to take him back to his hole!” They rolled him up, rolled him up, rolled him up and they set him right back into his hole, so that he lay there as he usually did. “Hurry! We have to run!” And the girls ran and they ran and they ran.

Next morning, the Big Snake’s wife told his children to go and look for him. When his children found him lying in his hole with his eyes staring wide open, they exclaimed:

“Grandfather is dead! It is that little girl who killed him. Quick, let us go after her! Get all those girls!”

Now all the snake’s children went after the girls – the boys called Porcupine, Jackal, Spider and Wild Cat. They pursued them, pursued them, pursued them.

The girls ran and ran and ran. When the boys had nearly caught up with them, Katitu commanded all the girls to turn into trees. She said: “Turn into trees!” Yes, the girls turned into trees. When the men arrived at the spot where they had seen the girls, only trees were standing there. By now, the Big Snake’s children were very tired indeed. So, they lay down underneath the trees and slept. When they were fast asleep, the girls turned back into human beings again and ran on. When the boys woke up, the girls were no-where to be seen and they finally gave up, yes, Porcupine, Spider, Jackal and Cat went home.

The girls continued to flee and came to a waterhole, the well of the elephants. The girls were thirsty, but the well was deep. They asked each other, who will climb into the well to scoop water? None of the older girls wanted to risk that and told Katitutu to climb in. “Will you help me out of the well if I climb into it?” she asked. “Yes,” they replied, “we will help you.”

Katitu climbed in and scooped water for her sisters. Each girl drank and then walked away. They all left. Katitu sat down deep in the well, squashed into the mud, wet and alone.

Later that evening, the elephants came to drink. One of them drank and left, another drank and left. The last elephant drank and slurped Katitu up while she was drinking, yes, the elephant swallowed Katitu with the water. While she was swallowing Katitu, a few drops of her blood sprayed onto the reeds that were growing in the water hole.

Meanwhile, the older girls had arrived home and said nothing about Katitu. Everyone searched for her, but could not find her. Katitu’s little brother and his friend were searching too and came upon the waterhole. They cut some reeds to make themselves flutes. Now, when the little brother played on his flute, the flute sang by itself:

“Is this my brother who plays me, who plays me,
The other girls left me, left me and the elephant swallowed me, swallowed me!”

The boy rushed home and handed the reed to his father, who played it. And again, the reed sang:

“Is this my father who plays me, plays me?
The other girls left me, left me, and the elephant swallowed me, swallowed me!”

Now the father handed the reed to Katitu’s mother, who played it. And again, the reed sang:

“Is this my mother who plays me, plays me?
The other girls left me, left me, and the elephant swallowed me, swallowed me!”

Now the father called the young men of the homestead and ordered them to go and find the tracks of the girl and look for the elephants. The young men hurried off. They met the first group of elephant and asked them:

“Elephants, elephants, have you seen the one who swallowed our girl?”

And the elephants sang:

“!a plaf! !a plaf! We trot lightly. We are so light, we carry nothing!”

And they passed on.The boys met up with another elephant in the bush and asked:

“Old elephant, elephant, have you seen the one who swallowed our girl?”

This old elephant too, answered,

“!a plaf! !a plaf! I trot lightly! I am so light, I carry nothing!”

But now the young men heard a little voice in the belly of the elephant:

“Cut her open! Go on, cut her on her left side, for I am sitting on her left side!”

Then they cut open the old elephant’s belly, and took Katitutu out of the old elephant. They took her home.

Of course, the other girls were severely punished.

And that was the tale of Katitu Mamombo, the wise and clever little girl who saved her sisters from the Big Snake, saved them from being killed by the snake’s children and with the help of her brothers, saved herself from the belly of the beast.

]]>The Art of Stories and Rockshttp://marlenewinberg.com/art-stories-rocks/
Sun, 06 Jul 2014 09:29:59 +0000http://marlenewinberg.com/?p=722Dear Friends and Story Lovers Kapilolo Mahongo carries an ancient oral storytelling tradition in his memory. Last week he visited the exquisite rock art etchings in the Klein Karoo with Spanish folklorist, Jose Manuel de Prada Samper, who took these photographs. This is one of the stories he told at these historic sites. The Story […]

Kapilolo Mahongo carries an ancient oral storytelling tradition in his memory. Last week he visited the exquisite rock art etchings in the Klein Karoo with Spanish folklorist, Jose Manuel de Prada Samper, who took these photographs. This is one of the stories he told at these historic sites.

The Story of Elephant, Hippo and Hare.

Hare was basking in the hot African sun. He planned to plough a patch of earth and plant mealies for his family, but he was too lazy. Half dreaming, Hare conjured up a plan. He grinned and stretched.

Hare hopped into the bush to find Elephant. “Big Man,” Hare said, “Do you want to play a game with me? I bet you I can win you in a game of tug-of-war!”

Elephant laughed at Hare. “You cheeky brat, one tug and you’re a loser!”

“No, just wait here, Big Man Elephant, I will be back with the rope!”

Hare fetched a long, thick rope from a tree and raced to the river, where Hippopotamus was wallowing in the shallows.

“Hey Uncle Hippo, want to play a game with me? I bet you I can win you in a game of tug-of-war!”

Hippo raised his round, big body out of the water and waddled into the mud. “You scrawny little scamp,” Hippo growled, “Pass the rope and I’ll pull you into the river in one tug!”

Hare tied the rope around Hippo’s huge mouth. Hare told Hippo to pull when he hears him call. Hare ran into the bush to tie the other end around Elephant’s long trunk.

“When I say so, Big Man Elephant, you must pull the rope!”

Hare rushed to hide away behind a tree.

“Pull!”

Elephant and Hippo both tugged and pulled with all their might. Stomping and stamping, the two big guys ploughed up the earth as they shoved and pushed along. Their massive bodies slid in the mud, until suddenly…Hippo and Elephant were standing face to face!

The big guys’ voices thundered through the forest as Hippo and Elephant shouted at Hare. How dare he play such a trick on them!Of course, the little trickster hopped away swiftly, jumping and bouncing, disappearing into the forest, faster than fast. When he returned the next day, the earth was ploughed, ready for planting.

And so, Hare lay back against the trunk of a tree, basking in the hot African sun and planning his next trick!

The story walks till here!

Kapilolo has been my story-telling partner for more than 20 years – what a mentor! He is the co-founder of the Manyeka Arts trust and leader of his community of more than 3000 !Xun speakers.

]]>Meet Storyteller Likua Kambembehttp://marlenewinberg.com/meet-storyteller-likua-kambembe/
Mon, 13 May 2013 17:35:57 +0000http://marlenewinberg.com/?p=567Dear Friends and Story Lovers, Likua Kambembe is a member of the !Xun Council of Elders and carrier of a great deal of traditional stories. He helps direct the Council’s Kulimatji project – dedicated to the continued life of his community’s oral traditions. This word translates into “We tell our old stories”. (http://sanmemoryhouse.com) Here is […]

Likua Kambembe is a member of the !Xun Council of Elders and carrier of a great deal of traditional stories. He helps direct the Council’s Kulimatji project – dedicated to the continued life of his community’s oral traditions. This word translates into “We tell our old stories”. (http://sanmemoryhouse.com)

Here is one of the traditional stories he told at the 2013 Kalahari Desert Festival, organized by the South African San Institute.

Beautiful Zebra and Crocodile

A long time ago, Crocodile lived in the Okavambo River, as he still does up to this day. One day, the beautiful Zebras came to drink water close to Crocodile’s home. When Crocodile saw their striking decorations, he swam closer to have a good look at the magnificent patterns on their skins.

Crocodile said to one of them: “Lady, you are very beautiful, where do you come from?

“Far from here, in the bush,” she replied.

“Can I go with you? You are so lovely, I want to marry you!” said Crocodile.

Zebra was very afraid of the crocodile and said: “Oh, you are making a very good choice. But you are a water animal. How will you come with me onto land to meet my family?”

Crocodile told her that she was so beautiful, he would just go with her. No matter what. And so they went. The two of them left the river bank and together, they walked into the bush.

After many long, dragging and tiring steps, Crocodile was hungry and thirsty. He was not used to this kind of walking on dry land.

The beautiful Zebra left him behind and ran ahead. Crocodile could not catch up with her.

In the meantime, Hyena was traveling in the bush looking for food, as usual. He came across Crocodile, who had dug himself into the sand for protection from the sun.

“Are you dead or alive?” asked stupid Hyena.

Crocodile pretended to be dead. He was hoping Hyena would carry him to the water, because Hyenas are well known to soak their prey in water before eating it. Hyenas hate dry food. They cannot swallow it, it gets stuck in their throats.

Hyena grabbed hold of Crocodile’s tale, pulled Crocodile to the river and pushed him in. By this time, Crocodile was furious at both the beautiful Zebra and stupid Hyena’s behavior. He was also starving. Crocodile opened his wide mouth, pulled Hyena into the water and swallowed him.

The news travelled fast. From that day on, the animals stayed away from Crocodile. This is why he lies so quietly beneath the water, hiding, not talking to anyone, just waiting to strike when an animal comes near him.

This story tells you two things. Never follow a beautiful lady to places where you do not belong. Secondly, the crocodiles lie everywhere in the rivers of the Okavango; you cannot see them, but they can see you. Many people lose their lives to crocodiles.

My story walks till here.

Several donkey cars arrived during the Kalahari Desert Festival to help transport people whose city cars got stuck in the sand!

]]>Meet Storyteller, Kunyanda Shikamohttp://marlenewinberg.com/556/
Mon, 13 May 2013 17:12:52 +0000http://marlenewinberg.com/?p=556Dear Friends and Story Lovers, Here is Kunyanda Shikamo arriving at the Kalahari Desert Festival 2013, with her dancing gear in hand. She was born in the village of Mucusso in Angola in 1954 and has lived on the Khwe and !Xun communal farm in the Northern Cape Province of South Africa for the past […]

Here is Kunyanda Shikamo arriving at the Kalahari Desert Festival 2013, with her dancing gear in hand. She was born in the village of Mucusso in Angola in 1954 and has lived on the Khwe and !Xun communal farm in the Northern Cape Province of South Africa for the past 22 years. Her mother tongue is Khwedam and she entertained us with this story about the origins of fire, given to her by her grandmother.
Lion’s Fire Sticks

This story starts in the old times when animals and people lived together. In those days people did not have the right to fire. They ate their food raw. Only Lion had the power of fire. He cooked delicious smelling food and kept everyone away from his fire.

People and animals came together to make a plan. “What can we do to get the fire from Lion so that we can cook our food?” they asked. They decided to wait until evening and then, started singing and singing, clapping and clapping, calling everyone together.

Come dance with us
Come dance with us
Come dance with us …

Many animals came from the bush to join in the dancing and singing. Lion could not resist the singing and dancing, so he came with his fire sticks. He rubbed the sticks, rubbed and rubbed. Soon a little smoke appeared beneath the sticks. Lion blew on the smoke and scraped some dry grass into it. A little flame appeared and everyone brought a piece of wood. Soon everyone was dancing around the fire.

Hare was a cunning and fast animal, so the people said to him: “While we are singing here and while Lion is dancing with us and not looking, you must take his fire sticks and run. When he chases you, we will kill his fire.”

Hare grabbed Lion’s fire sticks and ran. He did not make it because Lion caught up with him and brought the fire sticks back. Lion sang a boastful song about eating animals with hair and the people without hair.

I don’t have a problem
I can eat you with hair
You without hair
I don’t have a problem
All of you are food to me.

Springbok could run and jump very fast. The people said to him: “While Lion is dancing and singing here with us, you must grab his fire sticks and run.”

When they were dancing and singing, Springbok grabbed the fire sticks and jumped away into the veld. But Lion said: “ Why do I not hear the clippety-clop of Springbok’s hooves behind me?”

Lion turned and saw Springbok running into the veld with his fire sticks. So he ran after Springbok, caught him and came back with his fire sticks.

Again, Lion sang his boastful song.

“Oh” sighed the people, “Which animal can help us now? Ostrich has the longest legs of all, let us ask him.” They explained the plan to Ostrich and he grabbed Lion’s fire sticks during the dancing this time.

]]>Kalahari Desert Stories and Storytellershttp://marlenewinberg.com/kalahari-desert-festival-stories/
Wed, 27 Mar 2013 19:02:59 +0000http://marlenewinberg.com/?p=475 Dear Friends and Story Lovers, I recently had the privilege of telling stories with San storytellers at the 2013 The Kalahari Desert Festival. Naro speaker, Bega Xhaase (below), who travelled from his home in Ghanzi in Botswana to be with us, told this story about the hot Kalahari sun and the African black-backed jackal (Canis mesomelas). […]

I recently had the privilege of telling stories with San storytellers at the 2013 The Kalahari Desert Festival. Naro speaker, Bega Xhaase (below), who travelled from his home in Ghanzi in Botswana to be with us, told this story about the hot Kalahari sun and the African black-backed jackal (Canis mesomelas). Jackal and Sun has been told in the Kalahari Desert for as long as people can remember.

Jackal and Sun

Once upon a time, long ago, when people were animals and animals were people, Jackal lived with his old father. One day, he said to his son: “Hey my son, you should look for a wife who will cook for us when you are away, because you can see how old I am now.”

Jackal went into his kraal and took his goats out to graze. Far out in the bush, he saw something shining on a rock and thought to himself, what is shining so beautifully over there on that rock?

He remembered what his father told him and went closer and closer to see the beautiful shine on the rock. He asked: “Are you a human being or what are you?”

“No, it is me, the sun.”

Jackal said: “I am sorry, I did not know it was you. Why are you alone?”

The sun replied: “I was left alone because my parents did not want to carry me. I am hot.”

The Jackal said: “No, you are beautiful, I will carry you. No problem. I will take you home for my father to see you.”

The sun said: “OK, it is fine, carry me, but do not complain.”

Jackal put her on his back and started the journey back home.

The sun started burning Jackal on his back. “Will you please come down from my back so that I can rest?”

“I told you,” said the sun, “No complaints. Carry on.”

Jackal did not manage to carry her for much longer. Suddenly Jackal saw a round log across the path. He crawled through under the log so that the sun would slip off his back. The fur skin on his back and the sun were left behind.

The Jackal went home without skin on his back. His father treated his back with an animal’s oil. After some time, the Jackal’s back recovered and the fur grew again, but it was never the same colour.

That is why you see Jackal with that black stripe across his back.

The images above depicts the ‘jackal man’ !ui, a Khomani trance dancer from the Kalahari desert, performing a dance at the Kalahari Desert Festival. Caogwa Klass Tohalou (below), is a dancer in the Naro Giraffe Dance Group. (Photos by Satsiri Winberg)

This is what folklorist Megan Biesele has to say about the tradition of oral storytelling performances:

“Because the storytelling way of making social sense is by its nature continually creative and re-creative; it actually has its being only in its new performances. That is why variants in oral life are as uncountable as grains of sand. People who only encounter folk tales in print should realise that any collection of living folktales is an accident … they fail to represent the single most important truth about a folktale tradition, which is its on-going, creative life in the minds of its narrators and listeners.” (Megan Biesele 1993; 65-66)

This is why gatherings such as the recent Kalahari Desert Festival 2013 is so important to the continued life of the desert communities’ oral traditions. I hope to see you there in 2014 …

Every story gives rise to another. So it was with writing The Mud Baby; singing into the silence of losing a child. One story evoked the next until they eventually grew into the compendium they have become.

The Art of Storytelling...

Much of my work is about celebrating the art of storytelling. The Mud Baby does this in its own unique way - as a meditation on the stories people tell when someone they love dies. My book thinks about the value of short-lived lives and gathers together stories from a diverse range of tellers, both ancient and contemporary. It is a eulogy to my nephew, whose long illness inspired the collection of these healing stories and thus enabled the making of this book. I tell this story in more detail in the preface to my book.

“I cannot go a moment longer without writing to tell you how much your audio story of The Mud Baby has meant to me. The careful, evocative way you have put it together, making it accessible to all, is most inspiring. It is a most humbling document about loss, faith, strength, and going forward.” (Megan Biesele)

Dear Reader

The Mud Baby, singing into the silence of losing a child, celebrates the art of storytelling in its own unique way –as a meditation on the stories people tell when someone they love dies. It is a eulogy to my nephew, whose long illness inspired the collection of these healing stories and thus enabled the making of this book. I tell this story in more detail in the preface to my book, available on Amazon.com.

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The Chapter Summaries…

The Clay Pot

In this traditional story a grieving mother goes in search of medicinal herbs, finds containment in the stories of other African villagers and rediscovers the meaning of Ubuntu.

The Mud Baby

This classic African fertility story describes a barren, lonely woman’s journey into a river to recover her creativity with the help of an Angolan healer’s art.

Tiger Woman

During the ancient times, when animals and people could talk to each other, a young tiger woman in a Burmese forest marries a village man, but when death calls, she soon finds herself transforming the heart of her lover.

Katitu’s Basket

In a series of ancient hunter-gatherer stories, the girl Katitu discovers the meaning of memory as she helps her grandmother recover her own.

The Buddha and Squirrel

In search of truth, a Buddha sets about on a journey to discover meaning in the stories told to him along the way by merchants, farmers and a fish. A squirrel’s tale of heroism brings the Buddha to new insight.

Yours in storytelling

Marlene

P.S. Please find your gift copy of our 8-minute story based on The Mud Baby, over here: http://marlenewinberg.com/gift/

Click below to buy a copy of the book, The Mud Baby, Singing into the Silence of Losing a Child